The Life Pursuit
by jasperose
Summary: during the shooting, some important things are realised.  Breyton, s3.
1. Chapter 1

_heya Breyton fans. here's another one. it takes place in season 3, obvs, and it's a 2-part._

_the title is a Belle and Sebastian album._

_enjoy?_

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><p><strong>The Life Pursuit<br>part 1. **

You're holding her hand and laughing at something she's said when you see it. The scared boy standing with the gun held tightly in his shaking hands and his eyes frantic and pleading and wild. You freeze and tug on her hand, making her stop and taking a half-step in front of her. The boy doesn't seem to know who he's aiming at or what consequences his actions will have. He just seems interested in making it all stop. You think you can understand that, on some fundamental level, but you're still terrified.

Your terror increases ten-fold when you see his finger twitch and the sharp sound of the gun ricochets off the walls of the hallway. People all around you duck and scream and scramble to get away, dropping backpacks and pencils and books in their haste. You've ducked as well, and the glass door in front of you shatters. The glass rains down on you. You feel it cut your skin, but this isn't important. What's important is the loss of contact as you realise your hand is empty.

You look around frantically, trying to avoid the legs and the feet and the terrified screams. She's nowhere to be seen and you feel your heart plummet. Hands are grabbing at your shoulders and tugging you up, pushing you and urging you to "run hurry run!" so you do. But you still can't see her and your pulse is pounding in your ears. She's not here.

You know her, you know she wouldn't leave without you. You also know you're not going to leave without her, but the arms that helped you up are still pushing you forward, and you can't get out of the panicked mass of children. Suddenly you're outside where the sun is shining and students are screaming. This isn't where you need to be, or where you want to be, and you finally break free of the hands and are about to run back when you hear a familiar voice.

Lucas runs over to you, squinting and concerned. "What's going on?" he wants to know, but you don't have time for his stupid questions. You stutter out something about a gun and try to push past him, but he's grabbed your shoulders and won't let you pass.

"Someone has a _gun? _Brooke! Brooke, what's happening?" He's getting frantic. You look into those ocean eyes you love so much and suddenly feel cold. Peyton's still in there.

"Luke, yes, there's a gun, let me go!" You pull free from his arms and Lucas is still staring wild-eyed after you. Nathan races past him, breaking him from his stupor, and he chases Nathan down and tackles him. You're happy for the distraction as you rush back into the school.

It's dreadfully quiet and so still. Books and bags are everywhere, dropped in the students' haste to escape. You must be crazy to be walking back into this warzone, but you have to. Peyton's in here. You decide you need a weapon of some sort, so you duck into Whitey's office and grab a bat. You sneak down the deserted hallways, holding your breath and trying not to think about the scared boy with the gun.

You creep slowly back to the shattered door where you last saw her. You think your heart stops. There's blood on the floor, and you know for a fact it's not yours. Taking a deep breath and blinking hard, you look back down at the blood and notice it makes a trail. You quietly follow it, hoping for the very best but expecting the worst. The blood leads you to the library doors and you pause outside them, glancing left and right before pushing them open carefully.

The library is huge and intimidating and you remember why you hate it. Rows and rows of books greet you, and the smell of musty paper invades your nose. Instead of making a snide comment about it all though, you take another deep breath and creep slowly down the stairs into the shelves. The trail of blood is still present, and it makes your stomach turn. You follow it, your heart beating louder and louder in your ears until you think it's echoing off the walls, until the trail disappears behind a shelf. You pause, preparing yourself for what you might find. You haven't even considered it might not even be her. That's not an option for you.

You take careful, measured steps. Peeking around the shelf and clutching the bat tighter in your sweaty hands, your stomach knots when your eyes find her. She's pale and sweaty and scared. She's sitting with her knees pulled up and her head tilted back, lolling against the shelf. Her hair is in her eyes and there's blood dripping from her leg, soaking her jeans at an alarming rate. You gasp at the sight and her eyes flash open, horrified that she's been found.

You rush to her side and hug her close, pressing your lips briefly to her temple. A sense of absolute calm falls over you, despite the dire situation you've found yourself in. Pulling back, you meet her frightened gaze and whisper words of comfort and reassurance. She doesn't say anything; just stares back at you with a mix of wonder, relief, and fear in her big hazel eyes.

You really want to ignore the blood dripping from her leg onto the old carpet, but you can't. You tear your eyes away from her face and focus instead on her leg. Reaching a gentle hand out, you touch her calf only to have her flinch and whimper.

"Don't," she pleads, the first word she's spoken since you found her. You nod your head quickly and take off your cardigan instead. She watches you through teary eyes as you wrap it tightly around her leg and knot it. You ignore the blood that seeps through the fabric.

"We're gonna be okay, P. Sawyer," you tell her, hoping against hope that it's true. You're not sure it is, at this rate. She's looking very pale. "We're gonna get out of here and we're gonna be fine."

She fixes you with her P. Sawyer look and tries for a smile, but her leg is too painful and the whole situation is too big and scary for it to work. So instead she reaches out a hand and gently pushes a strand of hair behind your ear, her fingers lingering on your jaw. "I know we are, B. Davis," she whispers. Her voice is soft and ragged.

You take a deep breath and nod, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and holding her to you. You feel her soft breaths against your neck and you pray they don't stop. "Tell me a story, Goldilocks." You want to hear her voice again, if to just reassure yourself she's still there.

You feel her shoulders move as she sighs. "Remember that day, in sixth grade? We had a snow day." You feel yourself smiling and nod into her curly hair.

"Yeah, I remember," you tell her, hugging her tighter. That had been a good day. Before all the drama and tears and heartache, it had been just you two. In this world of serenity and peace, you two had spent hours upon hours creating something with your own hands. It was wonderful.

"We stayed outside for hours making that snow fort, and you insisted it have a tunnel." She laughs weakly against your neck. "That goddamned tunnel took ages. And you got bored halfway through, so I had to finish it while you sat in the snow and made snow angels."

You smile and press a kiss to the top of her head. "You can't expect me to do everything, Peyt. And besides, we _needed _those snow angels."

Her fingers begin to trace blind patterns on your jean-clad leg. It makes you shiver. "Whatever, Davis." She sighs again and you feel her eyelashes against your skin as she blinks heavily. "That was a good day."

You nod again and hug her tighter. You feel uneasy, but you don't want her to know that. She's fading fast and you're terrified. You stare at her curly head and try to swallow the lump in your throat.

"Brooke?" Her quiet voice breaks into your thoughts and you look down. Her big hazel eyes meet yours and your heart breaks. Those beautiful eyes are swimming in tears.

"Yeah, Peyt?" you whisper back, brushing a single tear from her cheek.

She looks at you carefully, her eyes darting over your features. It almost looks like she's trying to memorize your face. "I love you, you know."

You smile back, not forced at all, and nod. "I know. I love you, too."

She looks almost frustrated by your response, which is confusing to you. She opens her mouth to speak again, but instead gasps and shuts her eyes tightly.

"What is it? Peyton, what's wrong?" Your hands are fluttering over her and your eyes are scanning her body, looking for more injuries. She shakes her head and grimaces.

"Just my leg," she whispers, her voice sounding broken and scared. You flinch at the sound and glance back at her leg. Your cardigan is dangerously dark with her blood. You look back at her face and notice how pale and wan she's become. You fear she won't make it much longer in here.

"Okay, Peyt, we've gotta get you out of here." You stand and try to help her up, but she grimaces again.

"I can't—I can't walk, I tried!" she whimpers. Your heart breaks again. She looks so lost and worried.

You nod and look her over. "Alright, okay, I'll just…I'll carry you." You bend down again and wrap an arm around her torso and one around her knees. She loops her arms around your neck and holds on as tight as she can in her weakened state. You struggle for a moment before standing upright and taking a tentative step. "Here we go, P. Sawyer," you whisper in her ear, your lips brushing the shell. She opens her eyes and meets your gaze.

Before you know what's happening, she's pressed her lips against yours. You blink and kiss back. She pulls away and her eyes are serious and watery. "I love you, Brooke."

The weight of her confession is staggering. You can't say anything back; you just stare and wonder and consider. It's not like it's completely unheard of: you two spend almost every waking minute with each other, and more than a few sleeping ones. She's your P. Sawyer. She's your everything.

But then you remember where you are and what's happening and your heart picks up again, beating double-time against your chest. You think she can feel it. She's closed her eyes again and her grip around your neck is looser than you'd like. You push the revelation aside and press your lips briefly to her temple before tightening your hold on her and treading carefully up the stairs.

The school is deathly quiet. It unnerves you, because you're used to hearing it bursting with life and laughter and gossip, but it's still and silent. Like the girl in your arms. You reach the shattered door with Peyton's blood and peer cautiously into the hallway beyond, holding your breath. It's empty, like the rest of the school seems to be.

You let go of the breath you were holding and push the door open with your back, flinching when the sound of it closing echoes loudly through the halls. Your heart's stopped again and your hands are sweating bullets and the girl in your arms isn't moving anymore. Her chest rises and falls with her shallow breaths but that's not enough. You want to see her eyes. You're panicked and scared and in way over your head, and suddenly you hear another door slam closed.

The scared boy from before is in front of you, the gun once again aimed at you and her. Your breathing is quick and shallow and your eyes are wide. You're focused on the gun.

"What are you doing in here!" the boy shouts at you. You flinch at the tone of his voice. You think he's more frightened than you are. "The school is on lockdown!"

You think you're shaking. It's a wonder you're still standing, let alone holding Peyton in your arms. You swallow heavily and nod, keeping your eyes on the gun. "I k-know, I'm sorry…b-but she's h-hurt…" you glance down at Peyton and notice she's still not awake. "A-and if I don't get her o-out of here, she's going to…" the word gets caught in your throat, but the boy knows what you were going to say.

His eyes grow wide and the gun wavers, lowering slightly. "I didn't mean it," he whispers, his eyes on Peyton. "It wasn't supposed to be her."

You nod, believing his shaky words and pain-filled eyes. You try not to dwell on the fact that he didn't specify who it _was _meant to be. "I know," you reply, your raspy voice soft. "But I need to get her some help." You stare pleadingly into his lost and broken eyes and you think you see something there, a flash of resentment. But it's quickly replaced by his worry and anxiety again, almost as if it never happened.

"I-I can't let you go," he tells me, raising the gun again. "I can't."

Your heart is beating a tattoo against your ribs. You can hear your pulse beat heavily in your ears. Your stomach is knotted and twisted and clenching, and your arms are starting to hurt. "Please," you implore. He stares hard at your face and you see it again, that flash in his eyes. You're not getting out of here.

"Let her go, Jimmy," a voice to your right intones. You jump at the sound and turn to the speaker, beyond relieved to see Keith Scott.

"What the _hell _is going on? The _school _is on _lockdown!" _His voice booms through the hallway, making you flinch.

Keith reaches your side and places a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "She needs to get help or she's going to die."

Jimmy's face is anguished. He stares at Keith with a mixture of shame, fear, and worry on his face. "I can't," he whispers again, to Keith this time. "I can't, Keith."

Keith steps forward, but Jimmy aims the gun at him instead and he stops, raising his hands. "Please, Jimmy. She's done nothing to you." He gestures to you and Peyton. "Let her go."

Jimmy's face contorts while Keith is speaking, and suddenly he's no longer a frightened child, but a bitter, angry, hardened teenager. "She's done _nothing _to me?" A hollow laugh echoes in the empty hall. "She's the reason I'm _doing _this."

Keith seems confused and worried at this change in Jimmy. You're just terrified, and more than aware of Peyton's deteriorating condition.

"She's just a girl, Jimmy. They both are. Let them go. You have a chance to make this right." Keith half-steps in front of you, but Jimmy is having none of it.

"Get away from her!" he bellows, shaking the gun threateningly. "Get _away, _Keith."

Keith raises his hands again and steps away, so he's back by your side. "Think about what you're doing, Jimmy."

Jimmy scoffs and glares at you. "I have," he whispers darkly. "Look at her. She's the epitome of everything that's made my life _miserable _since freshman year."

You suddenly know he's not talking about Peyton. It's you. You're the reason this boy, this scared little boy, brought a gun to school and shot your friend.

"She's _perfect!" _His voice assaults your ears and you try not to cry. "She has everything she's ever wanted. Do you think she's ever looked in the mirror and _hated _what she saw? Do you think she's ever had her dad look at her like she was _nothing, _like she was the shit on his shoe? Do you?" He's gotten frantic, waving the gun and shouting and stepping closer to you and Peyton. "Do you think she's ever thought about how much better this world would be without her in it?"

He's very close to you now. You can see yourself reflected in his glasses. You can see the spittle on his chin from his vehement yelling. You can see the hatred in his eyes. It's directed at you.

You know if you don't get Peyton out of here immediately, she's going to die. You look to Keith, and he's staring at Jimmy like he's never really seen him before. You know what you have to do. "Keith," you whisper. He meets your gaze, and you want to cry. You want to, but you don't. Instead, you keep talking. "Take her. Please, take her. If you don't get her out of here, she'll die." Your voice cracks on the last word. Keith's eyes widen as he looks from you to Peyton.

"Brooke…" he whispers, shaking his head. "I'm not leaving you."

Jimmy scoffs at your exchange. "Isn't this touching," he sneers, glaring at you. "Little princess wants to save her friend." The gun is still pointed at you. You can see down the barrel. It's the most terrifying view you've ever seen.

"Please, Keith." Your voice is louder now. "If you don't, she'll die for sure."

Keith is staring at you like you're an alien. Something flickers across his face as he stares into your eyes. "Please," you whisper again. "She's all I have."

Jimmy interrupts. "No one leaves."

Keith turns to him pleadingly, but you've had enough. Peyton's dying in your arms and you're fucking terrified and you want nothing more than to go home.

"Jimmy," you start, and you see his eyes blaze when you address him. "Let her go. She's done nothing to you. _I've _done nothing to you." He scoffs disbelievingly and keeps the gun trained on you. "Do you think you're the only person who's ever had a bad day? The only person who's ever felt like they're not enough? That's bullshit. You don't know me, you don't know who I am or what I feel, you don't know _shit. _ You're a selfish, scared little boy who can't handle it when life gets tough." Jimmy's eyes are on fire, his hands shaking and his lips a thin line. But you can't stop.

"You think I don't know what it feels like to hate myself? Have you ever hated yourself so much it made you physically sick? Have you ever broken every mirror in your house just so you wouldn't have to look at yourself?" You're crying now and your arms are shaking and you don't know if you can hold her for much longer. "My father doesn't even have it in his heart to hate me. At least your father cares enough. Mine doesn't. He's indifferent." You take a shaky breath and blink the tears away. "You're not the only person at this school with issues, Jimmy. You're not the only one who's hated themselves, or wanted to change everything. It's foolish and insulting for you to think so." You can taste the salt on your tongue. Your eyes burn and your throat is thick and full.

Jimmy is staring at you with eyes on fire. Before you know what's happening, he's pulled the trigger and you're flying backward, landing in a heap on the floor with Peyton on top of you. You hear Keith shouting and Jimmy crying and another loud 'bang!' before the darkness surrounds you and you fall into it.

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><p><em>there! i hope you liked it. there's another part, let me know if you want it or if it should just stay like this.<em>

_ps i listened to heartbeats by jose gonzalez and electric by germany germany over and over again for this, if you want a playlist-type thing._

_loooooooooove jasper._


	2. Chapter 2

_so the first part seemed to get a fairly warm reception, which is naiiice. as asked for, here's the second (and most likely last) part of The Life Pursuit._

_enjoy! (?)_

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><p><strong>The Life Pursuit.<br>Part 2. **

You're very warm. Your eyes are still closed and they feel heavy and you don't want to wake up, but something tells you it's time. Fluttering your lashes against the bright sunlight, you're quite startled to find yourself on a beach. Looking around in confusion, you realise that nothing hurts. You're not bloody and stitched and plastered, but quite whole. There is an ache in your chest, though.

The sand is warm against your bare feet. It trickles in between your toes and you enjoy the feeling so much you shut your eyes. A soft breeze blows your hair from your face. The sun bursts across your eyelids, red orange yellow.

Opening your eyes, you look around at this beach you're now on. It seems to go on forever, the white sand stretching far past the horizon and the lazy blue water sparkling in the sun. You find that the water is very enticing, so you walk down to the water's edge and smile as the waves lap at your feet. The water is nice and cool, swirling around your feet and tickling your calves. Your chest still aches.

A body by your side catches your attention. You turn and are awfully startled to see Anna Sawyer smiling out across the water.

"Hello, Brooke," she greets, still not looking at you. You tilt your head and examine her profile.

"Hi, Anna," you reply in your raspy voice. Her smile widens. You both stand there for a while, you watching Anna and Anna watching the waves. Finally, she meets your questioning gaze and her smile drops a little.

"It's beautiful here, isn't it?" she wants to know. You nod but don't speak, and Anna sighs before sitting down in the sand. The waves almost reach her toes.

"Where are we, Anna?" You sit next to her and wrap your arms around your knees. She leans back on her forearms and squints against the sun.

"Don't you recognize it, Brooke?" She looks at you with a knowing smile and suddenly you know.

"This is where I met Peyton."

She nods and raises her arm to block the sun. It seems to be getting brighter. "Yes, it is. I remember that day very clearly."

You do, too. That was the day your whole life changed. Your mother had decided to spend some time with you, and you were thrilled. She packed up the car with beach supplies and you both drove to the beach, singing along to the radio and smiling. Your little six-year-old dimples were prominent and your dark eyes were sparkling. Your mother smiled and sang with you.

The beach was busy when you arrived. Your mother chose a spot and laid out her towel, settling down to work on her tan. You wanted to play, so you grabbed your bucket and shovel and went down to the water. That's when you saw her.

Her hair glistened like gold in the bright North Carolina sunlight. The curls were everywhere, messy and untamed. Her smile was gapped-toothed and kind of crooked, and her bathing suit was covered in sand. As you watched, she bent down and scooped up a handful of sand before tossing it at a boy with dark red hair and giggling gleefully.

You wanted to know her. You picked up your shovel and bucket and marched over to her, all dimples and smiling eyes. She noticed you, too. You dropped the shovel and held out your hand, looking into her big hazel eyes as you said, "I'm Brooke. Wanna play with me?"

She stared down at your hand before taking it shyly and nodding her head. Your smile grew and she giggled before you grabbed her hand and pulled her away to build sand castles and moats and forts.

That was also the day you met Anna. Soon enough, you and Peyton were inseparable. Your mother had gone back to her normal self, leaving you to your own devices, and you found yourself over at the Sawyers more and more, baking cookies with Anna and fixing dripping faucets with Larry and colouring with Peyton.

"But…why are we here?" You can't stop staring at her. You missed her more than you thought possible, and suddenly she's here with you.

She sighs and looks at the waves. "Don't you remember?" Her big green eyes meet yours and you gasp. Peyton has those eyes. The ache in your chest is back.

"No…" you tell her, finally looking away. "I don't understand."

Anna nods and closes her eyes. You do the same, and suddenly you're back in the school, Jimmy has the gun pointed at you, and Peyton is fading fast in your arms. You gasp and struggle and try to escape, but you can't. You feel a reassuring hand on your arm and look over to see Anna next to you.

"I don't want to be here," you tell her, your voice raspy and pleading.

Anna gives you an understanding smile. "I know."

The sound of a gunshot fills the halls, and you see yourself falling backward, Peyton landing on you. You see Keith shout and rush to you, and you see Jimmy fall to his knees as the tears fall from his eyes. You hear him apologize over and over again, and you see Keith press his hands down on your chest, only to have them come back crimson. Then you see Jimmy turn the gun on himself and pull the trigger for a third time, and you hear Keith shout again, his face anguished. Your heart is beating very fast and your mouth is dry.

"Am…am I dead?" you ask her quietly. Anna shakes her head and tears her eyes away from the scene playing out in front of you.

"No, darling, you aren't dead. At least, not yet."

You feel your blood run cold. "Not…not yet?" You shake your head and run a hand through your hair. "Anna, I'm scared."

Anna looks at you and you're overwhelmed by the love in her eyes. Peyton's eyes. "I know, darling."

"Is…" you swallow heavily and glance back at the hallway scene, your eyes lingering on Peyton. "Is Peyton okay?"

A small smile graces Anna's face. "Thanks to you, she's going to be fine."

You sigh in relief and feel your lips curve up. "She got out."

Anna nods again. "After the fourth gunshot, the police came in and grabbed you two." She looks back at her daughter, lying sprawled on top of you in the hall. "If you hadn't gone back to the library and carried her out, it would've been too late."

You nod and give a small laugh. Your P. Sawyer is fine. This is the best news you've ever heard. "So Peyton's fine," you say. "What about me?"

A sad look washes over Anna's face. "Well," she begins. Her eyes dart up to your body lying motionless on the floor. "I think, right now, it's up to you, darling."

You don't understand what she means. "I don't understand what you mean."

Anna's eyes find your own and she grasps your hand tightly. "Come on," she whispers.

You're back on the beach. You're glad, because that hallway was dark and stifling and heavy, and the beach is familiar and warm and kind. It reminds you of good times with your P. Sawyer.

"I like it here," you tell Anna quietly. Anna nods and wraps an arm around your shoulders.

"I like it here, too."

You glance over at the woman you once considered your mother. You've been afraid to go to her grave. "I miss you," you admit in a small voice.

Her green eyes meet yours. "I've missed you too, Brooke." She stops walking and turns to face you. "I'm so proud of the woman you've become."

You look down at your feet and tuck your hands into your pockets. You're not proud. You've been an awful person and you've done awful things. Anna senses your discomfort and lifts your chin.

"You've grown into a wonderful woman, Brooke Davis," she tells you, and you can hear the pride in her voice. It makes your heart swell. "You've become a remarkable young woman with a huge heart. I'm glad Peyton has known such a heart." Her big eyes are kind and loving and all sorts of home.

You nod and kick at the sand shyly. "She kissed me," you whisper, not looking up. "That day, she kissed me. She told me she loved me." The ache in your chest is strong and persistent.

Anna laughs softly. "Peyton never did have the best timing." Her eyes are sparkling and you can't help but smile. A pensive look covers her features as she watches you smile. "She does, you know. Love you."

You look back out over the water and consider her words. You consider everything that's happened. You consider the events that led you to be here, with Anna, on the beach where you first met Peyton. You consider your friendship with Peyton. You consider the way she knows you better than you know yourself. You consider the way her smile makes your stomach flip. You consider the fact that life without her is miserable. And you realise something wonderful.

"I do, too." You turn back to Anna and your face is a mask of wonder and realization. Anna smiles at you and you repeat your words. "I do, too."

"What are you going to do about it?" Anna wants to know. You frown and drop your gaze, not sure of the answer.

"What am I supposed to do?"

"Well, what do you want to do?"

You know the answer to this one. You want to be with her again. You want to hear her laugh and see her smile and watch her as she sits on her bed and sketches. You want to listen to her moody music and make fun of her when she broods and tell her to lighten up. You want to be with her again.

"I want to go back," you say, lifting your eyes to meet the familiar green. Anna nods and smiles and hugs you tightly. You never want to let go.

"Take care of my girl," she whispers into your ear. You've missed that voice. You nod and hug her tighter. "I love you, Brooke."

You missed hearing that from her, in her soft and caring and motherly voice. "I love you too, Anna," you murmur, but the light is getting brighter and brighter and you're squinting against the sun and you can't see her anymore, she's fading "no don't go" you want to say but it's too late.

You open your eyes and bright fluorescent lights make you squint. You groan and try to lift a hand to block it out, but find you can't. Glancing over, you find your P. Sawyer has a tight hold of your hand and is fast asleep, her head resting on your hospital bed. You feel your lips spread into a smile at the sight.

"P. Sawyer," you say. Your throat is dry and rough and you cough, trying again. "P. Sawyer."

She startles awake and looks around frantically, her big hazel eyes finally landing on your face.

"Brooke," she breathes, sitting up and staring at you. "Brooke!"

She wraps her arms tight around your neck and you smile into the embrace, ignoring the twinges of pain. "Hey, Fauxdilocks."

"Oh, Brooke, I was so worried!" She pulls back and stares into your eyes. "Don't ever do that again."

You smile wider and nod your head, aware of a dull throb in the back of your skull. "Sure, sure."

"I mean it. Never again." She shakes her head and plays with your fingers. "I was so worried."

"Sorry," you tell her, your voice barely a whisper. She reaches for a cup at your bedside and holds it to your lips.

"Drink."

You do as she says and your throat feels instantly better. "I missed you," you tell her shyly.

"I missed you too, B. Davis." Her eyes are on yours, and they're looking dangerously wet. "I can't believe you came back for me."

You roll your eyes. "Of course I did, P. Sawyer. You're my best friend. I love you." Your beachside revelation with Anna is still fresh in your mind. You know those words mean more than she thinks.

You see her eyes fill with warmth at the words, but it's quickly quashed. She nods and looks away. You reach out and gasp as pain shoots up your side. Peyton's eyes are wide and her hands are fluttering as she tries to help. "I'm fine," you mutter after the pain subsides. "Just…wasn't expecting that."

Smiling and grabbing your other hand again, she continues to play with your fingers. You feel butterflies assault your stomach. "Peyton," you rasp, trying to get her to meet your gaze again. She does. You take a deep breath and look directly into her eyes. "I love you," you repeat, giving her fingers a squeeze as you do.

You hear her gasp but you pay it no mind. You're more interested in showing her you mean it. You tug your hand and she lets go, looking a little hurt, but before she can wallow too much, you've tucked your finger under her chin and pulled her closer to your lips. She's centimeters away. You can feel her rapid breaths on your lips. You can see the flecks of green in her beautiful eyes. You can see the faint freckles on the bridge of her nose.

You close your eyes and press your lips softly to hers. You imagine this is what heaven is like. Peyton kisses you back and you're flying.

"I love you," you whisper against her lips. She smiles and you smile back, never having felt so content in your whole life.

"I love you," she tells you quietly, shyly. You laugh softly and feel your heart race at the words.

"I know, you told me as much in the library."

A blush creeps up her cheeks and you grin. She narrows her eyes at you and leans in to press her lips gently against yours.

"Wow," she whispers as you pull back. "So this is what it's like."

You cock your head and ask, "What _what's _like?"

Those big hazel eyes meet your questioning ones and a grin spreads across her face. Her fingers brush a strand of hair from your face and linger on your cheek. "To finally be whole," she tells you, still smiling.

You nod and blink quickly. "Yeah," you murmur, getting lost in her eyes that remind you of home and love and smiles.

So this is what it's like.

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><p><em>aaaaand END SCENE. did you like it? i always thought Brooke and Peyton had far too much sexual tension for them to be 'just friends.' <em>

_i was also thinking of perhaps doing another chapter, in Peyton's pov. i'm not sure how well that would play out, what with her being unconscious for a lot of it, but hey. if the demand is high enough, i could give it a go._

_thanks for reading, friends._

_loooooooove JASPER!_


	3. Chapter 3

_this is the Peyton part to _The Life Pursuit. _again, season 3, Breyton._

_enjoy!(?)_

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><p><strong>The Life Pursuit: Volume 2. (or <em>A Brief History of Love)<em>**

**Part 1.**

You're holding her hand and smiling as she laughs at something you've said when you see it. The scared boy standing with the gun held tightly in his shaking hands and his eyes frantic and pleading and wild. You feel her freeze and tug on your hand, making you stop as she takes a half-step in front of you. You feel your heart flutter at this, but then your attention is back on the boy, who doesn't seem to know who he's aiming at or what consequences his actions will have. He just seems interested in making it all stop. You think you can understand that, on some fundamental level, but you're still terrified.

She is, too. You can feel her hand shaking slightly as she grips yours tightly. Before you can squeeze back and tell her "everything is going to be alright," the boy's finger twitches and the gun goes off, the deafening sound exploding through the hallway. A searing pain bursts up your leg and you gasp as you lose contact with her, falling heavily to the floor and covering your head to avoid the stampeding kids.

Feet and legs are everywhere, and you cry out as a shoe collides with your head. You brace yourself against a wall and slowly push yourself up, getting jostled by the terrified crowd. Searching frantically, you finally spot her being herded out by the crowd, her green eyes wide and panicked as she realises you're not with her. Before you can call out to her, she's pushed outside.

The pain in your leg is nearly unbearable. You're trying desperately not to cry, but as you take a fraught step forward your leg collapses under you and hot tears stream from your eyes. You realise the doors leading outside are too far away, you'll never make it. So you drag yourself to the library doors, whimpering and gritting your teeth against the pain.

"She's okay, she's okay, she got out, she's fine," is the only thing going through your mind as you drag your bleeding self down the deserted hallway. You made the mistake of glancing back once, and the sight of your own crimson blood creating a gruesome trail across the tiles was enough to make your stomach turn. You don't look back anymore. She's okay.

The tiles are cool and soothing against your flushed skin. You pause and press your forehead against them, trying to calm yourself down. You're afraid your heart is beating so loud the boy with the gun will come back and finish you off. Lifting your head up, you realise you're nearly there, only a few more metres and you can collapse and cry and wait for help or wait to die. You're not sure which one, yet.

It's more difficult than you thought it would be to push open the library doors, but you finally get them open and drag yourself inside. The carpet is scratchy and painful against your exposed skin and screaming leg, and you can only drag yourself a little ways before giving up and leaning heavily against a bookshelf. You feel a bit woozy, and you don't think you've ever been in so much pain. Unable to look at the blood oozing from your leg, you shut your eyes and let your head fall back against the shelf.

When you were eight, Brooke came over for a sleepover. She'd slept over before, of course, but apparently you'd never "done it right." Brooke decided that sleepovers weren't meant for sleeping, they were meant for dressing up and laughing and gossiping (to the best of their eight-year-old abilities). You weren't about to disagree. So Brooke came over with movies and some of her mum's make-up. You were afraid of using it, because Victoria scared you, but Brooke assured you she'd never even know it was missing. Of course, you believed her.

Your mum came up to your room to tell you two that "it's far past your bedtime, young ladies."

Brooke rolled her heavily made-up eyes and said "jeez Anna don't you know we're having a sleepover?"

Of course she knew. It's all either of you had been talking about for days. But she didn't say that; instead, she shook her head with a smile on her face and patted Brooke's cheek. "How silly of me."

She left the room with a wave, and you called a "goodnight, mum!" at the closing door. Brooke watched Anna go with a wistful look on her eight-year-old face.

You stayed up until you could barely keep your eyes open. Brooke had fallen asleep ages ago, sometime around the third movie, but you couldn't bear to miss a single moment of time with her. She was an enigma, so apparent but so vague, and you wanted to know everything about her. So you stayed awake long after she fell asleep, and you watched her as she dreamed. You carefully brushed her long brown hair from her face and traced the bow of her lips. She didn't wake, and you found yourself in awe of the girl sleeping next to you.

A heavy weight on your stomach woke you up in the morning. Brooke was straddling you, smiling a gap-toothed and dimpled smile and poking your shoulder. You peered blearily up at her and she ruffled your messy hair.

"Finally," she exclaimed, blowing her fringe from her eyes. "I'm bored, P. Sawyer."

You started at the nickname. Rolling it around on your tongue and tasting it, you decided you like it. "P. Sawyer," you repeated, smiling. Brooke beamed back at you.

"I decided you need a nickname, if you're gonna be my best friend forever. So you're my P. Sawyer."

You smiled wider and nodded. "And you're my B. Davis," you told her, wondering at the explosion of butterflies in your stomach as her dimpled grin grew and her dark eyes sparkled.

A gasp tears you from your memories of your B. Davis. Your eyes fly open and your heart rate picks up as you feel yourself begin to panic. Whipping your head to face the noise, you feel an unbelievable sense of calm wash over you as you see your B. Davis, your Brooke, standing in front of you with a baseball bat clutched in her manicured hands.

She drops to her knees and pulls you into a hug. You feel her lips at your temple and the butterflies you've had since you were eight start flapping their wings frantically. She pulls away and meets your eyes and you can't believe you ever lived without her. Her green eyes are concerned and sparkling and you can barely think straight, she's all you can see.

The spell is broken when she reaches a hand out and gently touches your calf. You grimace and a broken whimper escapes you, and Brooke pulls her hand back quickly as if she had been burned.

"Don't," you whisper, meeting her worried gaze momentarily. She nods and pulls off her cardigan, and you marvel at the graceful slope of her neck and curve of her shoulders. Her hair falls gently over her collarbone and you barely notice her tying the sweater around your leg.

"We're gonna be okay, P. Sawyer," you hear her say. Her raspy voice is so familiar. The butterflies start flapping harder. "We're gonna get out of here and we're gonna be fine."

You hope she's right, because you have so much you want to tell her. You have so much you want to do, and you can't very well do that if you're dead. You meet her eyes again and try to smile, but it doesn't work. Everything is too scary and you don't want to die yet, because you've got so much to say. Reaching out a shaking hand, you brush her long hair off her face, letting your fingers linger on her soft skin. She feels like home.

"I know we are, B. Davis," you whisper back. You hope it's true, because you're not done yet.

Brooke nods gently and wraps an arm around your shoulders. Your pulse quickens at the contact. "Tell me a story, Goldilocks," she asks of you. Who are you to deny her anything?

Sifting through your foggy mind, you stumble upon a wonderful memory. "Remember that day, in sixth grade? We had a snow day." You can feel her smiling. You wish you could see her dimples.

"Yeah, I remember," she tells you, hugging you tighter.

That had been a great day. It was just you and Brooke against the world, and you were pretty sure you could take on anything. As long as she was by your side, you could take on anything.

"We stayed outside for hours making that snow fort, and you insisted it have a tunnel." You laugh weakly against her neck, pressing your forehead into her jaw. "That goddamned tunnel took ages. And you got bored halfway through, so I had to finish it while you sat in the snow and made snow angels."

Brooke kisses you again, her lips lingering in your hair. Your breath falters at the contact. "You can't expect me to do everything, Peyt." You smile weakly at the nickname. "And besides, we _needed _those snow angels."

Of course, you did. Anything Brooke said went. Not that you ever disagreed; you'd do anything to see her smile, and as she lay back in the snow and waved her limbs about, you could've sworn her smile lit up the dreary gray sky, if even just for a moment.

You let your tired fingers trace patterns across her leg, trying to pretend the simple touch didn't make your pulse quicken. "Whatever, Davis. That was a good day." You're awfully tired. If you were to sleep now, maybe you could wake up and find this is all just a dream. Maybe you're actually at your house now, with Brooke sleeping soundly next to you. Maybe your arms are wrapped securely around her waist as she breathes steadily in and out, and maybe your lips are pressed delicately against her hair.

Her arms tighten around you and you think maybe you really are asleep in your bed at home. "Brooke?" you ask, thinking maybe you'll wake her up and she'll nudge you and tell you to stop talking so damn much because she's trying to get her beauty sleep.

She pulls her head away to meet your eyes and you feel safe when your eyes meet hers. You think that if you were to stop breathing right now, you'd be almost happy. Almost. Of course, something's missing. You have so many things left to say. So many things left to say, and only one thing left to do.

"Yeah, Peyt?" Her soft fingers brush a tear from your face and you close your eyes at the gentle touch. But no, not yet, you have things to do you have things to say!

"I love you, you know."

There. You said it. The butterflies that have taken root in your belly for ten years are flapping and whirling around like mad, and your heart is beating heavily against your chest, but you said it. You said it, and it feels wonderful.

She graces your words with a dimpled grin and says, "I know. I love you, too."

She doesn't understand. You said it and she doesn't understand. She doesn't know you mean you love the way her nose crinkles as she sleeps, or the way her laugh becomes a guffaw when she laughs too hard, or how her heart is bigger than any you've ever known. She doesn't know you mean you love her dimples, or the curve of her neck, or the feeling of her arms around you. She has no idea, and you feel your stomach clench at the possibility that you could die today and she'd never understand.

You are about to tell her again when an angry flare of pain shoots up your leg and you grimace. Her face becomes a mask of worry and concern as she flutters above you.

"What is it? Peyton, what's wrong?" Her raspy voice is laced with fear.

"Nothing," you grit out, "just my leg." You don't look down, but you can feel the blood dripping steadily from your calf.

"Okay, Peyt, we've gotta get you out of here." She stands and moves to pull you up with her, but your stomach clenches in fear and you shake your head wildly.

"I can't—I can't walk, I tried!" you admit anxiously. But you both can't stay in here; what if the boy comes back?

"Alright, okay, I'll just…I'll carry you." Before you can protest, Brooke's looped her arms around you and hoisted you up. She sways a bit but steadies herself, pulling you tightly against her body. You can feel her heart thumping. "Here we go, P. Sawyer." Her soft lips brush against your ear and you realise you also have so many things left to do.

Meeting her dark green eyes, you lean up and press your lips tightly against hers before you can convince yourself this is a horrible idea. For a split second your world slows to a stop and everything falls into place, because Brooke kisses back. You pull away and tell her once more, "I love you, Brooke."

She stares at you, her lips still slightly puckered. You want to kiss her again, but it's so hard to keep your eyes open. Deciding you can maybe try again later, you close your eyes and rest your head against her shoulder, the sound of her heartbeat soothing despite it's rapid rate. Before you fall too deep into sleep, you feel her lips press against your temple and her arms tighten around you. Then, you drift away, the darkness surprisingly welcoming.

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><p><em>sooooo? do you lot want a part two? it could happen, you never know. <em>

_let me know, reading readers!_

_ps A Brief History of Love is an album by the Big Pink. and The Life Pursuit is still an album by Belle and Sebastian._

_looooooover Jasper_


	4. Chapter 4

_part two of Peyton's PoV hooray! _

_also, I forgot a disclaimer on the first three...so...this is it. _

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><p><strong>The Life Pursuit: Volume 2. (or <em>A Brief History of Love)<em>**

**Part 2.**

She looks so small. You try to breathe normally, but she looks so small. Tubes and wires are everywhere, and you want nothing more than for her to open her beautiful eyes and grin that dimpled grin and tell you to "stop moping P. Sawyer we're young and hot" but you're not sure if she will. The doctors aren't, either. She was shot, like you. She was shot in the chest, unlike you.

You wish it was you. You wish you could take her place on the stiff hospital bed, you wish it was you with tubes and wires and beeping machines. You wish it was you, but it's not. It's her, it's your B. Davis, and you don't know how you'll survive if she doesn't open her eyes. She's your everything, you think. You don't know what to be without her around.

You haven't let go of her hand since the doctors let you in to see her. Her parents are in California, making business deals and frequenting country clubs, so they're not here. You don't mind, because Victoria still scares you. So you sit by her side and hold her hand tightly, ignoring the fact that she doesn't squeeze back.

"I never told you what you mean to me," you whisper to her. She doesn't acknowledge your words, but you keep talking anyway. "I never told you how I need you."

When you were ten, your mother died. She was driving to pick you up, and she ran a red light. She was late. A car hit her, driver's side, and she died on site. The firemen had to use the Jaws of Life to tear into the wreckage. You thought that name was ironic. She died, and you didn't know what to do. Your whole world crumbled into a heap of tears and loss and heartbreak, and you didn't know what to do. Your mother was gone, and you didn't know why. You wanted a reason, some sort of deeper meaning behind her death, but you couldn't find one.

Brooke was there. She held your hand at the hospital, and hugged you tightly when the doctors came out stone-faced and slope-shouldered. She sat by your side and cried with you when they lowered the coffin into the ground. She stayed with you until nightfall, sitting next to the new grave and tracing the letters on the stone. She helped you up and wrapped her ten-year-old arms around you and kissed your tears away softly. Brooke was there.

Now you're here. She's lying in a hospital bed hooked up to machines and IVs and you're here by her side, holding her hand and trying to hold it together. You're suddenly overwhelmed by the strength a tiny ten-year-old Brooke possessed, because now, at eighteen, you can barely breathe. You can barely think, all you can see is gaping gunshot wounds and bloody hands. You think you might pass out.

"I need you to wake up, B. Davis," you plead. Nothing. "I need you here, I need to see those beautiful green eyes and I need to tell you what you mean to me." Your cheeks are wet and your throat is tight, but you keep talking. Someone has to. "Do you remember that summer before junior year?" You do, you couldn't forget it if you tried. Not that you ever would. "My dad took us to Florida, to the Keys, and we were so excited. We got to spend a whole month living a glamorous Florida life, and you had this crazy idea in your head about what our trip would be." You sniffle and wipe at your eyes haphazardly.

"When we got there, to the little beach bungalow, your crazy ideas were dashed." Of course, Brooke had believed you'd be staying in a mansion with servants and cute pool boys. What she got was a quaint little cottage on the beach in the Keys, quiet and secluded. You were thrilled, though. "You pouted for a whole day, and my dad just laughed at you and ruffled your hair and told you to lighten up, because we can't all be Davis'." You never told her how much you love that pout. Maybe when she wakes up, you can.

"We spent a month lounging on the beach, and those boys down the beach from us were obsessed with you, do you remember?" You did. You were so jealous. Brooke, being Brooke, would flirt shamelessly with them. You would sit beside her and try not to growl at the boys.

"And finally, after weeks of trying, that one taller boy finally got to kiss you. Do you remember that?" Honestly, you're not sure if she would. That was at the peak of Brooke's attention-seeking ways, to put it nicely. "And I was unlucky enough to bear witness. God, I was so jealous, Brooke." You laugh shortly, a sad, watery chuckle. "That stupid, testosterone-fueled jock got to kiss you and I was _so jealous_."

You play with her limp fingers and continue talking to her, despite the fact the conversation is painfully one-sided. "And then you came sneaking back into our room at three in the morning, smelling like ocean and gin and cologne. And your hair was a mess and your clothes weren't even put on right. I pretended to be asleep," you admit, glancing at her still face. "But I wasn't. You crawled in next to me, and I could smell the boy on you. I was so angry, Brooke." You shouldn't have been, you had come to expect this behaviour from her. But you still were.

"You crawled in next to me, your clothes somewhere on the floor, and before I could really lay into you, you wrapped your arms around me and pressed your face into the crook of my neck. And do you know what?" you ask her, not expecting an answer. "All my anger just…melted away. I was so ready to push you away and yell at you and tell you what a mess you were, and suddenly all I wanted to do was hug you." You shake your head wonderingly, wiping your eyes again.

"I could never stay mad at you, ever. Even when we were stupidly fighting over Lucas, I wasn't mad. I wasn't upset or angry with you. I was sad that I couldn't hug you and brush your hair back and tell you how wonderful you are." You do that now, tucking it behind her small ear. You trace the line of her jaw down her neck and stop at her collarbone.

"I could feel you crying, even though you tried to be all quiet and strong about it. You were always doing that. I could feel your tears against my neck and your short breaths, but I kept quiet. And after forever, when I thought you had finally fallen asleep, you leant up and pressed your lips against mine." Your fingers absently trace the shape of her lips now. "And do you know what, Brooke?" you whisper, gazing into her serene face and wishing more than anything she could hear you, "That was the best kiss of my life."

And it was. It was better than Nathan, who was rough and urgent all the time. It was better than Jake, who was too soft and gentle and always preoccupied. And it was better than Lucas, who was too tortured and broody and already taken. No, her kiss was the best, stolen in the darkened room of the small bungalow on the beach, tasting of salty tears and broken hearts. Because you knew you loved her, you knew she was your world, and you knew it was the best it could ever get. So her kiss was the best.

She still hasn't moved. It's strange, you think, to see your B. Davis so still and silent. She's usually so bubbly and bouncy and vibrant, but now she's silent on a hospital bed. It makes your heart ache in your chest. It makes your eyes sting and your throat tight. It makes you so sad you think you might break, but you can't. She needs you now, after so many years of the opposite. It's your turn to save her, but you don't know how.

"How is she?" a soft voice from the door asks. You wipe your eyes with the back of your hand and turn to see Haley.

"The same," you tell her. Your voice is choked and watery, and you berate yourself for your inability to remain as strong as Brooke.

Haley nods and comes further into the room, pushing her hair back uncomfortably. She stops at the foot of Brooke's bed and stares. You wish she wouldn't.

"This is so surreal," she says. You nod and brush your thumb over her knuckles, hoping for a smirk. Nothing comes. "I mean, Brooke's always the one…she's always…this isn't supposed to happen." Haley can't find the proper words, but you know what she means.

Haley goes to her other side and pulls up a chair. Sinking heavily into it, she grabs onto Brooke's other hand and laces her fingers through. You watch her carefully, pressing your lips quickly to Brooke's wrist.

"She's Brooke," she continues, her eyes watery and sad. "She's always so bouncy and alive. She's not supposed to be here." Haley's voice is breaking and you don't want to see her cry. You look down and away, instead focusing on the soft movement of Brooke's chest as she inhales and exhales. "She's not supposed to be here."

You can't help but agree. She isn't supposed to be here. She's supposed to be awake and smiling and laughing with you, not unconscious on a hospital bed with a hole in her chest. You miss her eyes. You miss her smile. You miss her warmth.

"I know," you whisper, not looking at Haley. "She's always the strong one, the brave one, the one that can bounce back from anything. She's supposed to be out _there," _you emphasize with a jerk of your head toward the window. It's a dark and cloudy day. "Not here."

"Yeah," Haley agrees in a broken voice. The two of you lapse into silence, both watching the gentle rise and fall of Brooke's chest. You don't know what you'll do if it stops. Cry, scream, revolt, break. You really hope you don't ever find out.

You want to keep talking to Brooke, let her know everything you've never told her, but you can't with Haley in the room. So you hold your tongue and watch her as she lies still and quiet in her bed, with machines beeping and whirring and dripping all around.

Your legs are asleep, your neck is stiff, and your hand is beginning to cramp from holding onto hers so tightly. But you don't want to move, so instead you shift slightly and rest your forehead on her hip. Haley hasn't moved, either. She's tucked her legs up under herself and pulled Brooke's hand toward her. You can feel her eyes on you.

"Did you ever tell her?" her soft wondering voice breaks through the silence.

You lift your head from her hip and stare at Haley. "Told her what?" you ask cautiously, rubbing your thumb over her hand and trying to still your rapid pulse.

Haley rolls her eyes, a gesture so familiar in Brooke that you nearly collapse, and answers, "How you feel, Peyton." She fixes you with her tutor-girl look and continues, "about her. Did you tell her?"

Your stomach flips as you stare at Haley. She's got a knowing smile on her lips and her big brown eyes are boring into your own. "I-I don't know what you mean," you lie, looking down at your intertwined hands.

Haley nods patronizingly, still watching you. "Okay," she says slowly. "But Peyton," you look up and she's smiling slightly, "I think you should."

Your brow furrows and you don't say anything back. Instead you bite your lip and stare at Brooke's face, pale and shadowed against the white hospital pillow. Even unconscious and maybe-alive, she still looks beautiful. You think she looks like an angel. You hope you're wrong.

"When we were in the library," you whisper, keeping your eyes on her face, "I told her."

A sharp intake of breath is all you hear from Haley. You don't look up to see her expression, instead keeping on with your tale of unrequited love and bloody rescues. "I was bleeding out on the library floor, with Brooke's cardigan wrapped around my leg. We had been sitting there for who knows how long, and I was worried I'd never get to tell her everything that I needed to." You take a slow breath and reach up to brush a stray tendril from her eyes. "So I decide that it's now or never, and I tell her I love her. Of course, Brooke doesn't get it."

Haley laughs lightly at this and a small wistful smile tugs at your lips. "She picks me up and is carrying me out of the library when I try again." You're surprised at the strength of your voice, but you find it relieving to talk about Brooke. "I kissed her," you admit to Haley, risking a glance at her. She's beaming. "And she kissed me back, for a minute. Then I told her I loved her, and I think she got it. But then I passed out."

Haley's eyes are watering and a lone tear streaks down her face. She's smiling at you like a proud mother, and you feel yourself blush. "Wow," she mutters, her eyes still on you.

You shrug and press your lips to the back of her limp hand. "I…she needed to know," you say, more to yourself than Haley.

After your mother died, you would spend days upon days crying. You'd lock yourself in your room and listen to the Cure and cry. And every day, Brooke would come over and sit with you, just so you wouldn't be alone. She wouldn't say a word, just sit next to you and hold your hand. You can't explain the incredible feeling you got from her presence, but you wish you could.

After about a week of this, of you two sitting in silence with nothing but the sound of your sobs, Brooke decided to speak. She hadn't cried in the whole time you two had sat. She'd remained stoic and strong for you. Tucking a wayward curl behind your ear, Brooke met your broken gaze and whispered, "I miss her, too." Your breath stuttered and you threw your arms around her slight shoulders and tucked her face into your neck. She cried softly, her little fingers gripping your back tightly.

"I never told her," she wept, her tears soaking your skin. "She's gone and I never told her how much she means to me."

And you felt your ten-year-old heart break all over again.

"She needed to know," you repeat in a whisper. Haley reaches across the bed and clasps your shoulder in her small hand.

"And she does," she tells you in her motherly tone. You nod and feel the tears dripping down your face.

"What if she doesn't wake up?" you shakily admit your deepest fear to the slowly darkening room.

You hear Haley's breathing hitch. "She will," she tells you. "She has to."

"But what if she doesn't?"

Haley doesn't answer you right away. She sits in her stiff-backed hospital chair and tries to hold herself together. "She will, Peyton. She's Brooke Davis. She's got to have the last word, and from the sound of things, she's gonna have a hell of a time beating yours. So she's biding her time, giving herself a chance to think of something great."

You smile, a small, cracked twist of the lips, and nod your curly head. "That's true," you concede. "Nothing's over 'til she says it is, right?"

"Right," Haley replies, her voice wavering and betraying her fears. This might be the last of your B. Davis. This image of her, small and broken on a hospital bed, might be the last image you have of her. You hope it's not, you desperately and gravely hope it's not, but it might be, and that breaks your already fractured heart.

"This can't be it," you decide, meeting Haley's wet eyes. "This is Brooke we're talking about, Haley. This can't be it, this can't be—" you find yourself unable to speak. Sobs wrack through your tired body, pulling your stomach up through your throat and tearing at your lungs. Hot tears stream down your cheeks and drip onto your clasped hands, soaking the skin and staining the sheets. You want to protest, you want to scream and shout and beg for more time, but your voice is choked and your heart is shattering. This can't be it.

Haley doesn't know what to do. She lays a shaking hand on your heaving shoulder and lets her own tears overtake her. She'd been trying to hold them back, but if you get to cry, so does she. She knows this might be it, despite your vehemence against it.

Her eyes are open and her cheeks are dimpled. She's smiling wider than you've ever seen, and her dark eyes sparkle with mirth "oh P. Sawyer stop being so dramatic" she laughs, tugging your curls and smiling some more. You haven't been this happy since your mother died and you want nothing more than to take her into your arms and never let go "Oh Brooke don't ever leave me again I love you I need you" you pull away and press your forehead to hers. "I won't go anywhere" she promises and then her lips are on yours and it's a million bajillion times better than you remembered and suddenly you're soaring and you've never felt this content this real this safe "don't let me down don't let me go" you missed her so much you can't believe—

"Miss?"

You jerk awake and wipe the tears from your face. A nurse is shaking you awake with an apologetic look on her face. "Miss, I'm sorry, but visiting hours are over."

Confused, you furrow your brow and look from the nurse to her. Brooke's not awake; she's still tiny and broken on a hospital bed. Haley is standing in the doorway waiting for you. "I…" you start, sniffling and shaking your head. "Sorry, but I have to stay."

The nurse frowns and purses her lips. "I'm sorry, but you can't stay overnight. Only immediate family members have that privilege."

"She's all I have," you tell her, your eyes pleading. "Please."

You can see her resolve fading as you stare up at her with your wide broken eyes. A tear slips down your face and she cracks. "Fine," she relents, a look of sadness on her face. "But don't make me regret this."

You nod fervidly and give her a shaky smile in thanks. She nods and ushers Haley out the door, glancing back at you once more as you turn back to your Brooke and cry.

The dream is still so fresh in your mind and you can't help but replay it all over and over again. Your heart splits and fractures into a million little pieces, floating around in your empty chest and piercing your skin, filling your lungs with blood and sadness and what-ifs. You can't bear the thought of not knowing. You can't bear it.

"Please," you implore to no one. No one responds, and once again you wish you were in her place.

Sleep is fitful and uneasy. Images of scared boys and angry guns and bloody hallways fill your mind and you want to wake up but you can't. Your leg throbs and your throat burns with sobs but you don't wake up. Not even when the dreams get so real that you hear her voice in your ear.

"P. Sawyer." The voice is raspier and rougher than you remember. Could it be you've forgotten already? "P. Sawyer."

It's not a dream and your eyes shoot open, searching frantically for her beautiful green eyes. "Brooke," you exhale, not quite believing your own eyes. "Brooke!" You lunge forward, ignoring the hot flash of pain through your leg, and wrap your arms around her neck.

"Hey, Fauxdilocks," she greets, and you feel her smile against your shoulder. You were so scared that you'd never see those dimples again.

"Oh, Brooke, I was so worried!" you exclaim, staring into her wonderful eyes. You turn suddenly serious and fix her with a look. "Don't ever do that again."

Her dimpled grin grows and she waves a hand absently. "Sure, sure."

"I mean it. Never again." You play with her fingers, your stomach fluttering as she plays with yours back. "I was so worried."

"Sorry," she apologizes, her raspy voice rough and cracked. You reach for her water and hold it to her mouth, telling her to drink and trying to ignore the rampant butterflies as her tongue flicks out to lick a drop of water from her lip.

"I missed you," she says, sounding uncharacteristically hesitant.

"I missed you, too," you tell her. "I can't believe you came back for me." That's what everyone had said, Brooke Davis had gone racing back into a warzone for Peyton Sawyer. It had made your heart race.

Brooke rolls her eyes. "Of course I did, P. Sawyer. You're my best friend," as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "I love you."

Your breathing hitches at her words and you can't help but hope that she means it the way you mean it. But you know that's untrue, so you nod and look away, back to your interlaced fingers. A gasp of pain brings your attention back to her face and you're horrified to see she's grimacing in pain.

"I'm fine," she mutters, "Just…wasn't expecting that." Her brow is still furrowed in pain, but she smiles anyway and you begin playing with her warm fingers again. "Peyton," she rasps, catching your attention again. "I love you."

You can't breathe. Taking a sharp breath, you try and register what she's said and what she means and does she mean it the way you mean it? but before you can even blink she's tugged her hand away and tucked a finger under your chin. She's getting closer and closer, and you can see every shade in her speckled eyes and the shadows cast across her cheeks by her eyelashes.

She presses her soft lips to yours and you can't help but think this is a dream again. This is amazing this is too good to be true. Her lips move against yours, forming the words you've longed to hear since you knew what it meant.

"I love you."

You grin and whisper it back, marveling in the gravelly sound of her laugh and the way it makes your heart race.

"I know," she smirks, running her thumb along your bottom lip. "You told me as much in the library."

She grins at the blush on your cheeks and you lean in to kiss her again, softly, truly.

"Wow," you whisper as you part. Your world is spinning but you've never felt so grounded in your whole life. "So this is what it's like."

She tilts her head to the side and you can't believe how adorable she is. "What what's like?" she wants to know.

Brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, you let your fingers trace the line of her cheek as you answer, "To finally be whole."

Who knew this is what you had been searching for your whole life. That ache in your chest and that hole in your heart is finally patched and mended and you can barely believe it.

"Yeah," she murmurs, staring into your eyes with an intensity you crave.

So this is what it's like.

* * *

><p><em>did you laaaiiike it? those two have so much unresolved sexual tension and it's so frustrating. if schwann had any sense about him he'd realise they're obs more than bffls and the epic love of Lucas and Peyton should have been the imminent love of Brooke and Peyton (Breyton. it even sounds better). but he's a foolish guy with a knack for RUINING EVERYTHING so whatever y'know?<em>

_let me know what you thought, reading readers and friends alike!_

_love 4eva, Jasper!_


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